


Stowaway

by Persephone_Van_Dyke



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Community: eleventy_kink, Crack, Fivesome, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:06:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone_Van_Dyke/pseuds/Persephone_Van_Dyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Written for this prompt in the <a href="http://eleventy-kink.livejournal.com">eleventy_kink</a> community:</i>
</p><p> </p><p>"you (reader) are in the TARDIS console room, when suddenly Doctors 9,10, and 11 are there along with the Master and Jack. They say you've been bad and you need to be punished and while holding you down, they each have their way with you. they even have their own little quirks (like 10 and telepathy, or 11 and the sonic) but while they hold you down roughly, the one using you is being extremely gentle. at some point, one of them decides to go anal (doesn't matter who)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stowaway

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, not making any money from this

When you walk out of Earl's Court Tube station, it's there, as always. It makes your heart give a little leap just to see it. And even though you _know_ it's just one of the original police boxes left over from the sixties, you do what you always do if the street is relatively quiet.  
  
You go over to try the door, planning to give it a surreptitious push, looking like you're just leaning on it in a casual way. Because how cool would it be if, just this once, it was real, it was all true, and you could really walk into the Tardis?  
  
This time, the door opens.  
  
You almost fall full-length in surprise, and just catch yourself in time to dodge inside and tug the door shut after you, because you don't want anyone to see this.  
  
Then you have to stop and gape.  
  
It's the old console room, with the gorgeous branching pillars and the aircraft seats. The ceiling is much higher than you imagined, and everything is so quiet it feels like you've walked into a cathedral. There are echoes and silences up in the high places, and a gentle sense of unseen presence.  
  
You always thought it would be smaller. You thought you'd probably go and poke the controls and pretend for a minute to be the Doctor. Instead, you find all you can do is go and sit weakly on one of those ridiculous seats and stare at the time rotor.  
  
This is too special to be real, you decide. Maybe you're dreaming. Maybe you're still on the District Line right now, dozing your way past High Street Kensington.  
  
Then you hear voices coming from over _there_ \- where the rest of the ship must be. You catch the phase ' - really ought to do this more often - ' in a voice you're sure is familiar.  
  
Before you can do more then jump to your feet, prepared to flee, five people emerge and you realise you recognise all of them. And your knees go weak with a mixture of fear and excitement and then more fear as you recognise the Master - stood there with all three Doctors and Jack, and apparently quite comfortable in their company, and you think something must be horribly wrong -  
  
And they're all _looking_ at you.  
  
'Who are you?'  
  
Nine has asked first, while Eleven has whipped out the sonic like a weapon, and pointed it at you, hastily scanning you up and down. Instinctively, you raise your hands as if he'd got out a gun.  
  
Ten has just turned to Jack, and said accusingly, 'Is this another of yours?'  
  
'Nothing to do with me,' Jack responded, shrugging. The Master's watching the others react, an amused look on his face.  
  
'What are you doing in my Tardis?' demanded Nine, walking over to you. Oh god, he looks angry.  
  
'Human, no weapons,' reported Eleven, snapping the sonic and checking the readings.  
  
'I just - sorry - I didn't realise it was real,' you gabble. 'I thought it was the one that's usually here...'  
  
'I told you,' said Ten to the world in general. 'I knew this would happen, it's a rubbish place to park.'  
  
'So you just - wandered in?' demanded Nine. 'What, trying to stow away?'  
  
'No,' you stammer, wondering how you can talk your way out of this without being marooned on a moon somewhere.

'Oh, give the kid a break,' interrupted the Master. 'Curiosity's not a crime, is it?'  
  
'Um,' you say, because admittedly Nine is scaring you and Eleven is walking round you and staring at you like you were in a museum, and Jack is just standing with his arms folded and an amused look on his face, but the Master is right there and he's the most scary of all - 'you do know he's there, right?' and you point at the Master.  
  
They spin in pleasing unison. The Master puts his hand to his chest as if you've personally wounded him, a superbly innocent "Who, me?" expression on his face.  
  
'Yeah,' said Nine. 'I tend to notice when people are on board my Tardis.  
  
'Oi!' called Ten, loudly. ' _My_ Tardis, I'm the designated driver here!'  
  
'Whatever.' Nine shrugs and turns back to you.  
  
'But he's evil,' you insist, feeling like the world is giving way. 'And you're all crossing time-streams,' you add, looking from Doctor to Doctor to Doctor wildly, 'and that makes the universe explode, and what about the Blinovitch Limitation Effect? - and also - ' you've run out of words, ' - evil!' you reiterate, pointing at the Master again.  
  
You realise you were shouting when they all shut up and stare at you.  
  
The silence is broken by Jack bursting out laughing.  
  
'This one's smart,' he said.  
  
'If he was really dangerous,' Eleven asked you, softly, 'do you think we'd all be socialising with him?'  
  
You shrug helplessly.  
  
'Anyway, you're more of a problem right now,' interrupted Nine. 'I don't stand for stowaways.'  
  
'You don't have to scare the poor kid,' interrupted Jack. 'There are other ways to deal with smart pretty people who wander into your HQ.'  
  
'Yes, we know, Jack, but we can hardly give this one a job,' snapped Ten. 'To say nothing of seducing - '  
  
'I was thinking more of - punishment,' said Nine narrowly, looking at you closely. 'Also - how do you know so much about the Blinovitch Limitation Effect? How do you know so much about us?'  
  
'Are you - a _fan_?' asked Eleven, sharply, his tone suggesting that being a fan is a weird, esoteric perversion.  
  
'Ficcer,' said Ten, suddenly certain. 'I bet you. Am I right?' he demanded, turning to you.  
  
'Um - yes,' you admit.  
  
'Does that mean we can tie you up and punish you properly?' asked Nine, a little bit evilly. 'Would you like that?'  
  
'Are we talking about kink?' asked Eleven, in a sort of stage whisper.  
  
'Oooh, I like it,' interrupted the Master, and you hate to admit it but there is something in the manic joy in his voice that makes you feel a tiny bit excited. That sort of excited that you quite like to ignore completely because it leads into awkward situations.  
  
'No, hang on - ' began Ten, who looked uncomfortable. 'We can't just - '  
  
'My Tardis, my rules,' said Nine, and then there was an argument about whose Tardis it really was, and Eleven got involved, and the Master joined in and it became a four-Timelord debate, and threatened to last quite a while, because all four of them can talk indefinitely.

Jack wanders over to you, hands in pockets.  
  
'Anyway,' he said, and this is going to be awkward because your mouth is dry and you can't think of anything to say.  
  
'Captain Jack Harkness - and you are?'  
  
You tell him your name, and he does that thing, taking your hand and smiling the smile that makes you melt, the smile that seems to tell you you're the sexiest thing he's seen all day. And that gives you a glowy feeling in the solar plexus, what with three Doctors and the Master in the room.  
  
'So, fic, huh?' he said. You are not sure if you want to curl up and hide or tell him all about it.  
  
From across the room, a voice 'Nothing _scary_ \- just a lesson - '  
  
'Yes?' you say in a small voice.  
  
'Written anything about me?' he asks, oh-so-casually, but you can tell he's itching to know. You own up that he's basically a gift to fic writers everywhere, because of the eternal timeline and the 51st century flexibility and all, and make him laugh.  
  
Fortunately, before this conversation can get any more tricky, or you accidentally tell him that you've fancied him the most since the Chula warship, the Timelords seem to reach an agreement. You hear someone mention bondage.  
  
'So, looks like you're getting tied up and punished, then,' Jack leaned over to say in your ear. Then, closer still, he added 'Or you could make a run for it while they're arguing.'  
  
You stare at him. Was that a suggestion? Is he offering you a way out?  
  
'Thanks all the same,' you say. 'But considering I'm probably asleep on the Tube right now, I'm going to stay and see what happens next.'  
  
'OK,' he said, and smiles, claps you on the shoulder. He doesn't look disappointed.  
  
Nine breaks the huddle and comes over, takes hold of you solidly by the shoulders.  
  
'All decided,' he said, and he's grinning happily at you for the first time, and you're not sure that isn't even more scary. 'Come with me.'

You find yourself marched over to one of the branching struts that reach up through the console room. This one has two loops of metal worked into the strut, one on each branch, just a bit above head height. Nine pushes you roughly against the strut and raises your wrists, holding them both in one firm hand, and turns to the group.  
  
'Jack. You've got handcuffs?'  
  
'Nope, sorry, came out without them.'  
  
'But you've _always_ got - '  
  
A jingle of metal.  
  
'Do I want to know why _you've_ got cuffs?' asked Nine, suspiciously.  
  
'Spoilers,' muttered Eleven, and you can imagine very clearly the shamefast look as he hands them over. Then you stop imagining in a hurry, as your wrists are pulled apart, and pinned against the struts, while a second pair of hands assist in cuffing you, hands apart, so you're facing into the strut and your body is basically in an X shape.  
  
'Now, we're each going to have a turn with you,' Nine is saying, close to your ear. You can feel him right behind you, the heat coming off him, his breath close to your neck. You feel incredibly vulnerable, and oddly peaceful. What happens next is not up to you. It's giving you another taste of that suppressed excitement of earlier.  
  
'We're going to show you what happens to stowaways. Want to know what I'm going to do to you?'  
  
'Um - yes please?' you say uncertainly.  
  
'I'm going to beat you,' he says, iron-hard certainty in his voice. Not "spank you" or "paddle you" either, but "beat you" - big scary concept there, and you wonder if you should have run away while you had the chance.  
  
'What with?' asked a mocking voice, which sounded like the Master's.  
  
A pause.  
  
'I don't keep bondage gear in here,' said Ten, in an injured voice. 'In fact I don't think there's any on board.'  
  
You feel like laughing. There are five of them and they can't even organise a proper punishment scene.  
  
'Jack,' Eleven's voice, bright and cheerful. 'You're wearing a completely superfluous belt.'  
  
'Brilliant!' said Nine. 'Hand it over.'  
  
There is the sound of Jack muttering as he undid his belt and pulled it free from his belt-loops, found somewhere safe to put his gun holster. Then a sudden snap and a yelp as someone and you'd bet it was the Master, pinged one of his braces. A scuffling sound, presumably Jack trying to get his own back. Laughter.  
  
' _When_ you've finished,' said Nine, irritably. In the corner of your field of vision, you can see Eleven, whose come over quietly to sit on one of the seats. His face is serious, composed.  
  
'Bit of hush, please,' said Nine. Silence falls, so you can hear very clearly the sound of the belt being run through strong fingers, doubled over, ready to be used -  
  
The first blow isn't as hard as you'd expected, but it's stingy all the same, and makes a thwacking sound against your jeans. You fill with relief - he's going for your bum, which will hurt but not harm you, and he's not just laid straight in with his full strength.  
  
In fact your relief doesn't last long - it's quite a harsh session, fast, furious, a little haphazard. You realise early on that it's more fun for everyone if you make some noise, so you stop biting back the squeaks and gasps that are your natural response to each fierce stroke. Nine's placing is good, and at no point does it hurt more than you can take.  
  
You figure if it gets too much, you're going to yell your safeword and hope that one of them is smart enough to stop things. But you can't be sure they would...and there's the excitement again, stealing into you, arousing and disquieting. Five hot people are going to do what they like with you, and none of it's really your fault...  
  
The last three blows come fast, and you sag against the pillar, your weight pulling on the cuffs, your knees weak, the sting converting to burning, glowing pleasure all over your bum.  
  
'Had enough?' demanded Nine.  
  
'That's up to you, Doctor,' you say, as politely as possible, guessing that either "yes" or "no" is a minefield and will likely get you more punishment. Not that you couldn't take a few more...  
  
A pause.  
  
'Good answer,' he said, and you relax in your bonds.

'Who wants next go?' Nine asks, turning round.  
  
'Me! Me!' and your heart sinks, because it's the Master, probably bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid, hand in the air, and you're not at all sure you want this to happen any more.  
  
'What are you planning?' It's Ten's voice, not so much distrustful as just - interested. This is so weird, listening to them talk like this.  
  
'Nothing too naughty,' he says. 'No touching at all. Just talking.'  
  
You hear footsteps moving quietly closer to you, and you're aware he's walking round you. He comes right round the strut so he can see you, and looks into your face.  
  
'Now, I want you to listen to me,' he's saying, softly, and there's a control in his voice that's new, and reassuring. 'Just focus on my voice, that's it...'  
  
Despite the throbbing where you've been beaten, you're starting to zone out a little, passive and peaceful.  
  
'That's it, I've got you,' and it's the way a lover holding you says "I've got you", not the way an evil mastermind says it. You half-think this thought and then it falls away, unimportant.  
  
'What a naughty little stowaway you are,' he says, his words melting over you. 'You've been bad, haven't you?'  
  
You find yourself nodding. Every limb feels heavy and relaxed, and you're quite calm and happy about it.  
  
'Very, _very_ bad.'  
  
More nodding. He's quite right, you've been bad. You don't feel guilty or anxious about it though - just calm and accepting.  
  
'So you need to be punished,' he continues. 'So much so that - ' and his voice is softer, conspiratorial, 'you're actually getting a little bit excited about it. Aren't you?'  
  
Nod. Your eyes have drifted shut.  
  
'You're a little bit turned on by all of us wanting to punish you. You quite want us to make you pay for what you did?' and it's a question, you know you could say "No I don't", but why would you? He's right.  
  
You nod. His voice is like a cord, reaching down to you in the depths of some deep place.  
  
'You'd probably like us to play with you some more, hm?'  
  
Again, you nod, feeling your excitement obediently rise a little.  
  
'So tell us, stowaway,' a bit louder, a bit more showmanship in his voice. 'Who excites you the most? Who do you want to take the last turn with you?'  
  
Normally, this question would knot you up with the tension of trying not to let on that you have a favourite, so it's a blissful relief that you find yourself saying softly 'Jack' without having to even think about it.  
  
In the very far distance, other sounds, possibly a short laugh, or a tut, or both.  
  
Then: 'Good. That's what I wanted to know. You want to come back now - you want to carry on now, don't you, and be punished some more?'  
  
Nod.  
  
'Then come back to me. That's it, I'm right here - come back. Open your eyes.'  
  
The sense of distance recedes, and you open your eyes to find, with no shock, that you're back in the console room, tied up where you were, and there are butterflies of excitement in your stomach. You can recall everything that was said.  
  
'Saving the best til last, huh?' Jack says, and gets a nudge in the ribs from Eleven.  
  
'I - I was hypnotised,' you say, because you feel a bit embarrassed. But mostly, now, you feel aroused.  
  
'Hypnosis can't make you say something that's not true, though,' said Ten, severely.  
  
'Go on,' said the Master to Ten. 'You can go next. I did the foreplay for you.'  
  
Ten shoots him a look of slight disapproval, walks over and sonics the cuffs off you.  
  
'Come with me,' he says firmly, dragging you by the wrist over to the nearest seat, and then - unexpectedly - locking a hand in your hair and yanking you to your knees in front of him.  
  
'Stay there,' he said softly, dropped into the seat in front of you and leaned down slightly, looking at you. You feel like you could lose yourself in his dark eyes. You want to stroke his hair, peel the suit off his skinny body, but he gave you an order and your hands stay put in your lap where they've dropped.  
  
He puts his hands on your temples, and you know where this is going, so the first thing he finds in your head is an image of Madame de Pompadour.  
  
He moves gently past that - you can feel him in your mind, tentative, cautious, and it's like you can identify where he is, it's not the panicky feeling of invasion you'd thought it would be, but as if he's steering slowly through your thoughts.  
  
You make a tentative mental suggestion, unsure how to attract his attention to it, but he picks up on it, and you sense his response - a sort of pleased, "Really?" feeling.  
  
But you wouldn't have suggested a blowjob if it wasn't something you were turned on to.

He picks up on that, leans back a bit, drawing your head forward. You get a directed sense, that he's going to stay slightly in your head and tell you what's good, to save the tedious necessity of speaking (his phrase, echoing in your consciousness).  
  
You have to open your eyes to see what you're doing, but he's drawing your head carefully down into his lap, and you press your face against his thigh and take a deep breath, inhaling him, and you feel a sharp jolt of surprise that's not your own.  
  
But you don't care any more, you reach up to rub one hand gently over his groin, and, finding he's definitely swelling already, you hastily unzip his trousers. The response you can feel is a surprised 'ohyes!', so you don't bother with teasing or taking it slow, you take out his cock and stroke it, looking closely. It's a luscious pink - looks just like a human one, which explodes a few theories - and has a couple of gorgeous freckles near the base.  
  
You lap your tongue carefully round the head, tasting him. He tastes - different, in ways you can't identify, and your mouth fills with saliva. You lick firmly over the head, teasing, til you get him fully hard, which doesn't take long when you can feel his thoughts, reacting with hungry vehemence, filling your mind with his sensations of pleasure.  
  
You lick him once from root to tip, and he makes a noise, verbally, that sounds like a very deep, low, 'Uuh...' Making him moan is the hottest feeling, so you do it again, faster, lingering your tongue on the tip a little longer. You find that that stroke makes him twitch, the telepathic connection filling with bright colours and his fingers on your temple slip away for a second before he adjusts them.  
  
By this time you're feeling throbbingly excited too, wanting to take him in your mouth, wanting to feel the heat of him on your tongue. And he picks up on this, and tilts a little, nudging forward push gently at your lips, so you open them wider allow him to slip into your hot mouth.  
  
You just take the head at first, working your mouth over it once, then again, in and out, feeling it hot and damp on your tongue. You lap him harder now, sucking as you pull away, and then letting him slip easily back in, a move that makes him moan softly again. You're only tangentially aware of the sound of his breathing, and a whisper from behind you where the others are watching. The sensation that you're putting on a show for them is an added spice, but mostly, you're focussed on the man in front of you, who's gently shifting his hips now, sliding a little deeper in your mouth, gently telling you to change the angle slightly, almost purring with enjoyment as you do so. He's rock-hard now, and you can feel the throb of a double pulse in the delicate blood-vessels under his skin.  
  
You imagine making him come, and add a hand into the equation again, gripping firmly at the root while you focus your attention on the head. The thought of him coming seems to catch him, because you feel a flare of sensation-memories that aren't your own, and that must be how orgasms feel to him. You speed up, move back to sucking and stroking, synchronise your mouth and hand, and feel him shift and push again, harder into your mouth, urgent and hungry, and now he does it again, starts a rhythm of shallow, fast thrusts. You want to feel him come - you want to taste him - and this is all transmitting, he's getting your desire and excitement in glorious technicolour, and you can feel him, between flashes of excitement and arousal, reassuring you, and then that fades and there's a glorious chorus of his sensations as he reaches that point where he can't stop, and he moans out loud, just once, and lets it go, and his cock pulses as he comes in your mouth.  
  
You swallow, which is to say, you swallow most of it. It tastes not unlike cum usually tastes, maybe pheromonally different but not a lot. A little bit slides down from the corner of your mouth as you feel him finish, the last drops oozing from the tip as you pull away.  
  
'Oh - mmm,' you say, feeling the connection sever, the sudden withdrawal of communication. He looks oddly distant, sitting with his chip tipped up, panting. But when you speak he looks down at you, smiles brilliantly.

'Wow.' A voice behind you, identifiable as Jack's, filled with excitement. 'Did that feel as good as it looked?'  
  
But the barriers of tension and ambiguity are building up again, Ten hastily buttoned his trousers and stood up, trying to look casual. Figures, you think, he'd be the most shy about this. He's always struck you as quite uptight about sex.  
  
A pause. You stay where you were put, kneeling obediently, but after a few second you look up sideways, to see who's going to make the next move.  
  
So you see Jack nudging Eleven forwards.  
  
'Your turn,' he hissed, in a stage-whisper, glancing at you.  
  
'Oh!' Eleven jolted out of some private reverie, and you wonder if he's going to want you to repeat your performance, but instead he glances a little helplessly at Jack, as if he's not sure what he wants to do with you.  
  
'Um.'  
  
Uncertainly, he gets out the sonic, as if to scan you again.  
  
Then, 'jeans off,' he orders, uncertainly. 'And the top.'  
  
The room's reasonably warm, and you were fairly sure at some point you'd end up in your underwear. You comply hastily, hanging your clothes over one of the railings, pairing your shoes under them neatly.  
  
'Sit over there.' You go obediently to the aircraft seat and perch on it.  
  
'Knees apart,' Eleven mutters, gesturing vaguely with the sonic. He's barely looking at you, and you are wondering what's coming next.  
  
'Vibrating setting?' Jack asked, curiously.  
  
'Don't be silly, Jack,' Eleven said. 'The sonic doesn't _have_ a vibrating setting.'  
  
'You've just ruined a _lot_ of internet fantasies,' remarked Ten, amusedly.  
  
'Plus a fair few of mine,' added Jack.  
  
Eleven seems to be more confident now he's got his audience interested.  
  
'But,' he added, 'it can resonate with materials, like - '  
  
He aimed the sonic at the seat you're sitting on, pointing at the patch of material between your thighs.  
  
' - _this_.'  
  
It's like that feeling when you're on a bus that starts to judder as it stops at the traffic-lights. Or like the sudden speeding roar of a plane taking off. Or a bit like a massager running at 6000 rpm. It is vibration on a new level.  
  
Somewhere in the console room, something begins to rattle, as the resonance is picked up by other surfaces. But you barely notice, because this buzz is shuddering through your thighs and bum and right up through you and it's focussing in on the most sensitive area, so you instinctively tip your hips a fraction to get some more contact with the seat.  
  
'Ooh, that looks fun,' said the Master. Even Nine is looking intrigued and much less irritated than usual. Eleven seems detached, pointing the sonic carefully, and you realise he's moving it very slightly, edging the epicentre of this glorious throbbing buzz as near to the crux of your thighs as he can.  
  
You start to pant. Since no one seems to mind, you edge forward again, rocking softly to get more pressure. Then again. You feel very wound up - the generalised arousal has focused in with a vengeance all of a sudden.  
  
'That's quite a party trick,' Jack said, leaning over to Eleven. 'I think I can top it, though.'  
  
He tapped a button on his wrist strap. 'Locked the signal,' he said to Eleven. Eleven nodded, twiddled with the screwdriver. The green light and the familiar sound ceased, but the buzz continued.  
  
'Anything else you want to do?' Jack offers. Eleven glances at you, then back to Jack.  
  
'No - all yours,' he said, sounding a little relieved. 'I'll learn from the expert.'  
  
Jack laughed. You think they might have some private joke going on, some unspoken mutual knowledge, but before you can wonder too hard abut this (distracted as you still are by vibrations) Jack comes over to you, and for a second you feel the turn-on fade out to be replaced by a terrified rush of tingling nervousness in your stomach.  
  
Then he's dropped to his knees between your feet, and, kneeling up so your faces are on a level, he kisses you.

The nerves vanish instantly. Everything you imagined about 51st century pheromones is true - he tastes amazing, like no one you've ever kissed, impossible to put into words, so exciting that you give a tiny whimper. And he knows _exactly_ what he's doing, slipping his tongue between your lips at exactly the right moment, then drawing out, allowing you to reciprocate, keeping it slow and tantalising.  
  
You can't keep your hands politely behind you any longer, you urgently grip the back of his head with one hand and pull him in close, drag the other haphazardly down the lapel of the coat he's wearing (and yes, it feels rough and warm and sensual, just how you thought it would).  
  
He lets you touch him for a moment, then pulls away, almost regretfully, grasps your wrists and pushes your hands into line in front of you. You feel, despite the manouevre, that if you wanted to pull free of his grip, you could - his fingers are holding you firmly but lightly.  
  
You realise you're panting still, your knees are wide apart - your arousal must be obvious. And he's looking right at you, wow, his eyes are so beautiful -  
  
'OK, stowaway,' he said. 'Only gonna ask you this once, so make sure you tell me the truth.'  
  
You gulp. Mouth dry, heart pounding. He leans very close to your ear.  
  
' _What do you want_?'  
  
For a second, you can't believe it's so simple. The answer is obvious - it has, after all, been in your daydreams and fantasies and stories for such a long time. And this might be your one chance ever to have it happen.  
  
When you look at it like that, saying it out loud should not be so tricky. But you have to swallow sharply and lick your lips before you can say it, even just as a whisper, close against his cheek, shutting your eyes as the words emerge.  
  
'I want you to fuck my arse.'  
  
'Oh, _yeah_.' He sounds enthused, and your breath all leaves you in one gasp of relief.  
  
'What?' demanded the Master.  
  
'You'll see,' Jack said, smugly. He shed his coat, threw it casually in the Master's direction. Then, it's as if the other four have stopped mattering; he looks right at you.  
  
'Done this before?'  
  
'No,' you murmur, feeling that your own hesitant index finger doesn't count.  
  
'OK, so we'll take it slow. You - ' he grins at you, because you are quite pink and the low, almost inaudible throb of the vibrating seat is still going, and the sensation is making you warm and breathless ' - might wanna turn over for this, lie face-down? Wanna do that for me?'  
  
The option is open, the way he says it, but it sounds like the best idea ever to you. He releases your wrists and allows you to turn round, so you're kneeling on the floor right in front of him, the corner of the seat buzzing snugly against your sex. As you lie down along the seat, you feel awkward about sticking your bum quite so blatantly in the air - but he runs a warm hand over you, reassuring, gentle, appreciative.

'Oh, mm - gorgeous,' he says. He sounds like he means it. You feel the hand continue to roam, over your hips and buttocks, along the crease between your thighs and then back up to trace your most sensitive area.  
  
Then - your eyes widen - his lips, quite distinct, at the base of your spine, kissing slowly down, with the occasional, super-gentle hint of teeth, over your cheek, to the crease of your thighs, then back up. Meanwhile, his fingertips are playing over you lightly, seeking out patches of hypersensitivity, teasing and touching and making you shudder and gasp, moving insistently when he finds an especially good place.  
  
Fingers slip below the hem of your underwear, tracing along suddenly-bared skin.  
  
'Time these came off,' he said, 'don't you think?' and there's a half-question there, once again you feel he's giving you the choice.  
  
'Yes,' you agree breathlessly, and he pulls them down, exposes your bare cheeks to the others.  
  
Now the faint marks of your earlier beating are showing, and you are aware that Nine has leaned closer to look.  
  
'Pretty,' observes the Master, and Ten is squinting over his shoulder, trying not to seem too interested.  
  
'Mmm,' another appreciative, expressive noise from Jack. He leans over you, close to your ear again, and you feel the warmth of his body press over you, and - you are almost sure - a hot bump against your thigh which must be his cock.  
  
'How would it be,' he asked, 'if I start warming you up with my tongue?'  
  
'Yes,' you say, quickly. 'Oh yes please.'  
  
'Oh - really?' Ten says, his voice expressing more than a hint of disapproval, and you feel your mood break for a moment, you feel suddenly put-down and small for liking rimming.  
  
'That's not what you said when I did this with _you_!' Jack snapped back, sitting up. 'You've spent _wa-ay_ too long in the 20th century. Stop being such a goddamn Puritan.'  
  
And instead of the sudden sharp retort and the row you were expecting, Ten mumbles what sounds almost like an apology. Clearly at some point Jack has set down some clear boundaries about Ten's loud anti-sex attitude - and not before time, you think, and reach for Jack's hand and give it a squeeze.  
  
'Sorry, gorgeous,' he says, misinterpreting your quiet gesture of support, 'where was I?'  
  
Then once again his lips are tracing down from the small of your back, and then you fall back into your turned-on, hungry body with a rush, and forget to think about anyone else's relationship politics. His tongue moves in long, sensual laps across your skin, he takes his time before he focuses in, but when he does it's so unnervingly, unexpectedly good that you moan out loud. You feel fresh waves of arousal wash through you, it's like every erogenous nerve you have is reacting at once.  
  
You are vaguely aware that if you think too hard about this, it's going to kill your mood, so you take big breaths and let yourself sink into it, the sensations zinging through you, from both the buzzing throb below you, and Jack's light, expert teasing. Little by little, you feel your muscles starting to ease and grow receptive, sensual, you feel prepared and thrilled and relaxed all at once. He starts swapping his fingers in now, just for a stray caress or two, then slightly firmer, teasing out your entrance, flicking lightly over you.  
  
You become aware that the others are standing close, watching, and you are the focus of their attention. It's not like any of them don't know how Jack is in bed - but you, your reactions, the way you move and moan and twitch with arousal, are all new and exciting. You feel oddly powerful, the focus of their attention, turning them on as you get hotter and wilder with excitement.  
  
But this is just a second of awareness, because now, deftly, Jack has lubed his fingers up and is spreading something slick and smooth over your tender entrance, his fingertips circling very gently.  
  
'You ready for a bit more?' he asks, and you mutter, 'Yes,' unsure, but ready to give it a try.  
  
'Any time you need me to stop,' he said, 'say, and I will.'  
  
And his finger circles more, pressing now, pushing very slightly into you, so your instinct is to tense up.  
  
'Breathe,' Jack said, his voice calm, confident. 'Breathe in - '  
  
You pull in a breathe, and you know the routine - as you exhale, you deliberately relax to the best of your ability, and Jack feels the move and slips his finger in.  
  
'Ooh!'  
  
It feels astonishing, sensual and smooth inside you, and your whole body gives a shiver of excitment that locks down instantly on your groin.  
  
'Yeah? Like that?'  
  
'Yes!' you say, rapidly, and you feel a soft laugh move him.  
  
'Keen, aren't you?' he says. 'Want it a little _deeper_...?' and suiting the action to the word, he slides his finger further into you, stretching you open. You whimper with pleasure, and push down very slightly on the buzzing seat. You want to push back, demand more - you want to feel spread and split and opened in so many ways -   
  
'You're really very good at this,' Jack breathes. 'I'm pretty sure you could handle getting fucked right now. What do you think?'  
  
You nod, then remember that speaking is helpful, and make a noise that's broadly identifiable as a Yes.  
  
'OK.' Smoothly, he withdraws his finger, and before you have time to open your mouth again, he says, 'Condoms - in my coat pocket - ' to the others, and someone helpful hands him one, and you fall right back into your sensations again, reassured that you didn't even have to remind him.  
  
The vibration is giving you an amazing feeling, a slow, solid buildup that is growing and coiling in the depths of your body, so you think he wouldn't even have to touch you to get you off, if you just keep pressing yourself down on this corner of the seat that's throbbing in all the right places. Then, in sharp counterpoint, a smooth, slick touch at your entrance.  
  
Jack's voice - 'Ready for this?'

You haul in a deep breath, and on the exhalation he nudges forward and opens you up, and your eyes snap wide open. You focus on relaxing and he slides in, unbelievably deep, opening you up completely, and your lips part in astonishment. You feel as well as hear his gasp as he slips into you, his hands laid reassuringly against you - one on your back, lightly, stroking distractedly over your spine, the other on your hip, gently holding you steady - and, best of all, the swelling, aching sensation of being filled and spread, of taking him right in, feeling the whole length of him inside you.  
  
' _Fuck_ that's good,' you moan, and , breathlessly, he checks, 'You sure, you OK?'  
  
'God yes,' you whisper. 'That's _it_ , that's so big - '  
  
'Unh,' He sounds ragged, much less calm. 'Yeah - like this?' A gentle thrust, edging you against the seat, setting off a shudder of sensation.  
  
You nod, fiercely, and he leans close, and begins to move, half laid over you. Slowly at first, then speeding up, he thrusts into you, finding a steady rhythm, using his weight to push you against the corner of the seat. One of his hands is straying over you, fingering your nipples, your neck, caressing your face - the other is gripping tight on the back of the sofa, supporting himself as he moves faster.  
  
He's controlled, exact - the buildup is perfect. When he slows right down, draws away, almost slips out of you completely, you cry out, only to yelp again when he gives a sudden hard push and slips back in as deep as he can go with a low moan of pleasure. Then he builds the speed til you are thrusting back against him with every stroke, grinding yourself hungrily into the vibrations underneath you as he fucks you in perfect counterpoint.  
  
Then - he must have gestured or something out of your line of sight - because more hands are suddenly on you, you're not sure how many, someone is gripping your wrists behind your back, someone else has one hand rubbing the back of your neck, and someone has long, elegant fingers tracing over your lips, then responding to your eager, semi-conscious kissing by slipping a fingertip into your mouth and letting you suck on it eagerly.  
  
You get louder as you grow more and more turned on, knowing they can all hear your moans and gasps, and you don't even care, in fact it's an extra thrill, five people you fancy all watching and listening and touching you as you build and build, closer and closer to a climax.  
  
Then, just when you were feeling like you're seconds off coming, a hand on your upper back, between your shoulder-blades, pinning you in place, restricting your moves.  
  
'I almost forgot,' Jack gasps, slowing right down. 'This was meant to be a punishment.' You whimper, heartrendingly. You can't move to chase the building orgasm that's expanding deep inside you.  
  
'So maybe - I'll make you wait - a bit longer,' he growls, still moving, god the _co-ordination_ , you can't even speak in clear words any more but he's still in complete control of himself.  
  
'Maybe this is the best punishment for stowing away - maybe not letting you come is - the cruellest thing we could - do to you?'  
  
You moan, shamelessly, pitifully, and struggle against the firm, strong hand against your back, trying hard to move. Now the other hands are holding you - keeping you in place, locking you immobile, but none too fiercely - they are all supporting you as much as they are restraining you.  
  
'You like being punished, right?' Oh this is unfair, you feel so cheated and vulnerable and he's deliberately keeping you right on the edge -   
  
'Such a - _bad_ \- stowaway,' he breathes. 'You deserve to be teased, don't you?' He gives an agonisingly slow thrust that just teases you more, ' - tormented and teased and left so - wound up you can't - speak.' His voice slips down into a whisper, cruel and delicious, and you gasp in a breath.  
  
'Yes. Yes I do.' You articulate it round the gentle finger that's teasing lovingly at your lips.  
  
'Good answer,' Jack breathes, close to your ear, and the weight goes from your back, and you're free to rock and grind against the seat again..  
  
'Ready?'

You feel Jack start to move again, giving a deep push that sends fireworks along your spine, and you move in time with him, feeling him fucking you hard and rubbing yourself against the vibration, and Eleven must have amped the signal at the last moment because it suddenly rises in pitch and intensity and you're lost, explosively aroused and in freefall, between them all, your orgasm rising and rising from deep in you til it spills and you come, your body locking and clenching and every particle of you shuddering with joy.  
  
The aftershocks melt way slowly. You are aware of someone lying warm against your back, of their quick, sated breaths. There are hands stroking you, your shoulders and hair and hands. There's a swift little kiss on the back of your neck - you never know who that was. The vibration fades down, not too fast, to a faint thrum, and then nothing.  
  
'Oh.'  
  
You lift your head a little, a smile of glowing, exhausted satisfaction on your face. If you twist, you can loop an arm awkwardly round Jack, so you do. He snuggles into your shoulder - his fringe is damp. He smells of sweat and sex, and it's amazing. You nuzzle against his hair, inhaling him, for a second.  
  
A slow process of getting up follows, re-dressing. Once your underwear is back on, you find yourself in the centre of an impromptu snuggle-pile of Timelords, none of them saying much, as if your wordless, delicious afterglow has spread. And maybe it has - they are telepaths after all.  
  
Gradually, and without much talking, the hug comes apart. One at a time, the group leaves quietly, saying goodnight to Ten, whose Tardis, you dimly recall, this is. Jack is last, and he whispers nice things to you and you kiss him deeply, before he grabs his coat and swings out the door, with a last, irrepressible grin, and a sly, friendly swipe at Ten's bum.  
  
You are left alone with the designated driver.  
  
'Was that - good for you?' he asked, awkwardly, eyes on the Time Rotor.  
  
You nod.  
  
'Not going to stow away again, right?' he checks.  
  
You consider this. In all honesty, you can't say that what just happened was exactly a deterrent.  
  
'Not if you take me with you,' you say. 'Officially. Couldn't be a stowaway then, could I?'  
  
He looks at you sharply. You stare back unabashed, because you've seen his mind, and you felt it when he had the idea of taking you with him.  
  
'Aaaoh,' he makes that noise of hopeless indecision. Then, suddenly, he gives in. 'Oh, all right. One trip.'  
  
'One trip,' you agree.  
  
You don't want to be away for too long, anyway. You're going to need to get home and write this up for the folks on the meme, after all.  
  
  
END

 

 


End file.
